


An Unusual Love

by sherlockian4evr



Series: The Lovers of Baker Street [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Graphic Depictions of Torure, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlockary - Freeform, Mentions of Past Torture, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Past Drug Addiction, Past Torture, Pining, Planned Suicide, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn, Rimming, Scars, Sherlock (TV) - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Masturbation, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3551864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary brings John to realize that he loves Sherlock as much as he loves her. Sherlock has decided that he can't continue as he has been, living a life without John is just not worth it. It is up to Mary and John to bring Sherlock into their family and show him that they can all share a life together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of suicide.

Danger night. – MH

What’s happened? – JW

Not at liberty to say. – MH

Fuck Mycroft. Just tell me. – JW

Get to 221B now. – MH

Not drugs. – MH

On my way. Not drugs? – JW

Suicidal. – MH

Take Mary. He will need a 24 hour watch. – MH

Again. What’s happened? – JW

His phone remained stubbornly silent.

"Mary, it's Sherlock." His voice was quavering. "We have to get to 221B right away."

Without batting an eye, Mary scooped up both of their coats, her purse, and her keys. “What’s wrong, John? Is he hurt?”

“Fuck, I hope not,” John rasped out.

Mary raised her eyebrow in question.

John held open the door to their car and Mary climbed in. As he stepped around to his side of the car and got in, he answered her unasked question, “Mycroft says that Sherlock’s suicidal.”

Mary and John were quiet for a time as she drove. Finally, Mary broke the silence, “Oh, Christ. It’s all my fault.” Her hands were shaking and tears were glistening in her eyes.

Stunned, John simply looked at her for a moment, his heart falling to his stomach. All he could think of was that horrible moment when he found out that Mary had shot Sherlock. There was still her unknown past. He had forced himself to forget it but now, with her declaration, it loomed over him like a dark could. His voice cracked, “What have you done Mary?”

Mary reached out with one hand and took his hand in hers and she smiled tearfully. “Oh, John. It’s nothing like that. It’s just something I should have taken care of before this. It’s just, everything has been so complicated. I only wanted a bit of time with you alone before…” Her voice faltered.

John prompted, “Before what?”

Mary gasped in a breath, “Before I had to share you.”

John looked at her contemplatively.  **Before I had to share you.**  What the Fuck does she mean by that?

Despite herself, Mary laughed. “Oh John, when will you admit it to yourself? You love Sherlock as much as you love me? I promised you once that I would never come between you and I meant that. I knew what I was promising then even though you didn’t.” She leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth.

John’s eyes had gone wide. He could not process what Mary had said. She thought he loved Sherlock. Not only that but she sounded like she was offering to… No he hadn’t heard correctly. “Mary, I…” John began but she cut him off.

“John, if you want to help Sherlock, then you have to admit the truth to yourself first. I know. This John, this is what it is all about. His heart is breaking.” Mary had placed her hand over John’s heart as she spoke. “Don’t argue with me on this John. Just search your own heart. You will find that there is enough love for the both of us.”

John didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His throat was tight, his eyes were burning, and a strange sensation was coursing through his veins. It seemed that time stood still. He wasn’t gay was he? No. He wasn’t attracted to men. Not in general. Okay, he was attracted to one man. He loved being with Mary. He loved Mary. But Christ, he missed Sherlock in his daily life. It had been hell without his Sherlockian ways to distract him. Okay, if he was going to admit that he was attracted to him, then yes, Mary was correct, it was more that attraction. He loved the man. Fuck. That was unexpected.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for planning of suicide.

The inside of 221B was quiet. Uncharacteristically so. Sherlock stood perfectly still, hands raised to either side of his head. He was in his Mind Palace, had been for quite some time. But even in the gloomy grey room, he was standing quietly.

Inside, there was turmoil. Pain rolled over him in waves. It was a visceral pain that permeated all of his being.

Standing in front of him were the people that he cared about. There were not many, but there were more than there had been just a few years ago. In the front were John and Mary, of course. Behind them were Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and Molly. Behind them were his parents, and fuck it all, Mycroft.

Of course, his attention was rivited on John, only occasionally drifting to Mary and back. John, always just beyond his reach. Now irrevocably beyond his reach. His best friend, his conscience, his heart. He was quite sure that he hadn't had a heart before John. John had given him a piece of his own heart to use as Sherlock's. John hadn't even known he did it. Now it was breaking.

Sherlock had never expected to experience sentiment. Much less to this extreme. He had tried to short circuit his feelings, to divert them into simple friendship. It hadn't worked. Sherlock had even tried to be the machine that John had accused him of being but he couldn't shut down the sentiment.

So here he was, an aching, open wound. Simply breathing hurt so much. How could he face the next day without John. No, the next hour. The next minute.

Then too, every evil that had happened to John since they had met was down to Sherlock. The Moriarty kidnapping, the fall aftermath, the bonfire, and so much more.

Now John was married and a father to be. When the danger had just involved himself, John had never turned away. But now, surely as a family man he would distance himself from the danger to protect his family.  **Rightly so.**

That might not be enough. Not now. Not with the new Moriarty threat looming over them. If the threat turned to Sherlock, then it would turn to John, Mary, and their unborn child.  **Unacceptable.**

After this threat was over? Others would attack him through his friends. His John.  **Unacceptable.**

Even within his Mind Palace, Sherlock felt his breathing falter.  **Breathe. Calm.**

**Fact 1: I can never have John.**    
**Fact 2: My continued existence is a danger to John, Mary, and the baby.**    
**Fact 3: John will leave to protect his family.**    
**Fact 4: Life without John is borrring.**    
**Fact 5: Life without John is pain.**

**Conclusion: Continued existence is pointless.**

He would end his own pain and keep his vow to protect the ones he loved.

Sherlock felt the foundations of his Mind Palace crack. Outside, tears found their way down his cheeks.

Now that Sherlock had made the decision to kill himself, it was time to determine the optimal method. He had to make it as painless for his friends as possible. Also, there had to be no doubt. He knew he had hurt his friends with the fall. He would make sure that they could truly put him to rest in their minds. So nothing that would prevent a positive identification.  **No gunshot to the head.**

**Can't breath.**  Sherlock paused to gather himself and forced his breathing back to normal. There had been a time when he was cold, unfeeling. He could be that now. He would be that now. Just long enough to figure this out.

For the first time, he spoke out loud in his Mind Palace. "7% solution overdose?" His preferred method. The tableaux before him changed. Instantly they all looked grief stricken. Molly and Lestrade looked angry as well. His parents looked pained. Mycroft, resigned. Mary, understanding. John looked angry and guilty. Oh. John thought he should have seen the drug use and stopped it. (Even though Sherlock was currently clean.)  **No overdose then.**

Suppress the pain. Ignore the cracks growing in the walls.

"Wrists." This time Mrs. Hudson promptly fainted. 50% chance she will be the one to find me.  **Next option.**

Those were not tears in his eyes. He was a machine. He would press on.

"Sleeping pills." Grief all around. Some anger. Less guilt. No fainting.  **Sleeping pills.**

He is definitely not shaking. The sobs are not his own.

"Do I leave a note?" John was crying. Why? Oh. Anything he could say would only cause guilt. He would be better off wondering why.  **No note.**

Sherlock came out of his Mind Palace but in a daze rather than in his usual manic state. His body was shaking and his breathing shallow. Tears were streaming down his face. Every atom of his being seemed to hurt. He had tried not to feel while he was in his Mind Palace. It hadn't worked.

Looking around the flat, he took in its general state of disarray. Mrs. Hudson could deal with what he would leave behind. But... he would do one thing for her before he completed his task. She didn't need to deal with his experiments, body parts. Sherlock would remove them then proceed. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could end the pain.

It was a delaying tactic, of course. But in his reduced mental state, Sherlock didn't recognise it as such. He moved about his tasks methodically, clearing away biohazards and packing equipment. He was done all too soon.

Sherlock glimpsed himself in the mirror over the fireplace. He looked raw and haggard. A cliché for suicide. No, he wouldn't go out looking like this. He would clean himself up and dress in his best suit before he retired for the final time.

Another delaying tactic.

Sherlock showered, shaved, dressed, and ensured that his hair fell just so. It had taken over an hour to prepare, but now he was ready.

He removed the bottle of sleeping pills from the first aid kit where he had stashed them all those months ago. Mycroft's doctor had prescribed them just after his return from Serbia. Most importantly, they weren't prescribed by John. His doctor would be in the clear.

Sherlock's grasp tightened reflexively on the bottle as he gazed at himself one last time in the bathroom mirror, then he gathered his resolve and strode to his bedroom.

He had already placed a glass of water on his bedside table. Sitting down on his bed, he opened the prescription bottle to pour the pills into his hand. That's when he heard it. The door to the flat opening and the hurried sound of John's footsteps in the flat.

Sherlock slammed and locked his bedroom door and hastily tossed the sleeping pills into the bedside table. John couldn't know. Not now. Not until it was done.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for aborted suicide.

He is getting ready to make his move. – MH

Just arrived. – JW

Mary stopped long enough for John to burst out of the car. He left her to find a place to park and bounded up the steps to 221B, heart racing. The door was locked, but he still had a key. Without hesitating, John unlocked the door and stepped into the middle of the flat. He scanned the room. No Sherlock.

“Sherlock!” John headed toward Sherlock’s room.

Sherlock’s voice boomed from behind the closed door, “Go away John!”

John shook his head, “That is not going to happen. Open the door.” He was greeted with silence. He waited thirty seconds then in a firm and commanding voice spoke, “Open the door or I will break it down, Sherlock.” There was another pause and then the door slowly opened.

John stepped into the room. He was immediately aware that there were no drugs, no gun, nothing that Sherlock could use to harm himself. He breathed a bit easier.

Sherlock’s voice filled the room but he didn’t meet John’s eyes, “Why are you here John?” A pause then, “Ah, Mycroft. It’s none of your concern. Just. Go. Away.” With that he turned and buried himself face-first in his bed.

"I said, that’s not going to happen, Sherlock. I am not going anywhere until you tell me what is going on in that mind of yours." As he spoke, John’s eyes fell on the drawer of Sherlock’s table. It was slightly askew. Reaching out he opened it. There, laying on its side, was an open prescription bottle, its contents spilling out. Lifting it, he read its label. “Sleeping pills, Sherlock? When did you start taking sleeping pills? You don’t do you? Not you, you hate sleep. It’s boring. So tell me why do you have sleeping pills?” Fuck, Mycroft was right, naturally.

“Fuck of John,” Sherlock growled.

Just as John was about to respond, Mary entered the room behind him. “John, would you let me speak to Sherlock alone.”

John hesitated.

“Trust me with this, John. Just go put the kettle on and try to calm down. We’ll be out when I’m done.” Mary leaned in and hugged him quickly then pushed him toward the door. She closed it softly and leaned against it.

Sherlock buried his head under his pillow, turning just enough to speak. “Mary, don’t make me tell you to fuck off too.”

“Oh Sherlock.” Mary sighed. “I know what this is about. So let’s talk about it, please.”

Sherlock didn’t move as he spoke, “If you know what this is about then you know that no amount of talking will change anything. So, as I told John. Just. Go. Away.” His voice had grown venomous at the last.

Instead of leaving, Mary lay down on the bed beside Sherlock, placing her hand on his back. Sherlock stiffened and gave out a great sigh. “Mary, please, just go away.”

Mary decided that she was going to have to cut straight to the heart of the problem and do it quickly. “Sherlock, I know that you love John. I knew from the moment that I saw you. It was so obvious in the way you looked at him the night of your return. The way you didn’t put up a fight when he struck out at you that night. It was more important to you to let him vent his anger than to defend yourself. You always put his needs first, even down to being his best man. You didn’t kill Magnussen for me, you did it to protect John.”

Sherlock spoke softly, so softly that Mary almost didn’t hear it, “Not just for John, for you, too, Mary.”

Mary smiled to herself. “Okay, mostly for John then. But here is what you have to know, Sherlock. I made a promise to John. I promised that I would never come between the two of you.” There was no reaction from Sherlock. Oh the stubborn, oblivious git. How could someone so brilliant be so dull? “Sherlock, yes John loves me, but he loves you too.” Mary held her breath, waiting for a reaction.

Still hiding under his pillow, Sherlock at least turned his head toward Mary. “What do you mean? Loves me? He loves you. You are his wife. I am his best friend. That doesn’t leave room for love beyond the platonic sense. And I am sorry, but that is just not enough. Not anymore,” With that his voice broke.

“Oh Sherlock,” Mary reassured, “you are so wrong about that. It’s like I told John, he has a heart that is large enough to love us both.”

Mary heard Sherlock’s sudden intake of breath. He jerked upright and looked at her for a long minute before speaking. “You said that. To John.” Sherlock swallowed, then spoke. “He knows then.”

“Yes darling, he knows.” Mary gave Sherlock her most reassuring smile. “And I assure you, you are loved.”


	4. Chapter 4

John sat on the sofa looking at his untouched tea. He was tense and worried. If he were to be honest with himself, he was terrified. What if Mary was wrong? Where would that put them? In that case, why was Sherlock doing this?

But... what if she was right? Christ, now that he had admitted the truth to himself, he prayed that she was. Oh, that was so selfish. Wanting Sherlock's pain to be caused by him. That was just fucked up.

No. No, if he was the cause, then he could put an end to that pain. If Sherlock would let him. There was never any predicting Sherlock when it came to sentiment. If there were, then they wouldn't have found themselves in this spot. Of course, then he wouldn't have Mary. Sherlock would have made a move long ago. Then again, without Mary, John would likely have run from the prospect of a relationship with the detective. There were just no easy answers.

At the sound of a door opening, John looked up. Mary was leading Sherlock into the sitting room by his hand. How could anyone so tall look so small and child-like?

Sherlock's eyes were downcast. His normally pale skin was almost translucent. His dark curls were tangled and wilted against his scalp.

John's heart ached for him.

Mary guided Sherlock to the sofa and pressed him down next to John. The detective still refused to raise his eyes from the floor. He looked so vulnerable. No one at the Yard would believe that this was the same man that terrorised them on a case-by-case basis.

Mary spoke in a firm voice, "Okay boys. It's time for you two to have a conversation. You both know what you want. Don't waste any more time." Mary smiled at them. "I'll just step down and have a visit with Mrs. Hudson then. John, text me when you need me." With that Mary turned and left the flat, closing the door behind her as she went.

An awkward silence filled the room. Finally, John broke the silence. "So then." He faltered. Sod it, just put it all out on the table. "So you love me?"

"Yes," Sherlock's responded, his baritone voice trembling.

John felt the tightness in his chest releasing a bit. "Then you should know that I love you too."

Finally, Sherlock raised his eyes to meet John's. "But Mary?" Sherlock asked.

This was it. How would Sherlock react? John forced his voice to calmness as he responded, "Apparently I am a fucked up, selfish bastard. I love her too and I want to have you both in my life. In every way. At every moment in time." John heard his voice crack. He was searching Sherlock's face for any indication of what he was thinking, but the detective's face had gone still. Sherlock was processing the data. All John could do was wait and hope. Hope that Sherlock arrived at the right conclusion.

* * *

After what seemed to be an eternity, Sherlock spoke, "You will still be in danger, John. You, Mary, the baby. Unacceptable."

Whatever John had been expecting, this wasn't it. "Sherlock, what are you on about? How does that fit in with this conversation?"

With his mask firmly in place and his voice under strict control, Sherlock explained, "I had determined that my death would serve two purposes: 1) I would no longer be in pain and 2) I would remove myself as a source of danger to you and yours." Sherlock felt his mask crack a bit then forced it back in place. "You have been repeatedly targeted to get to me. The threat needs to be removed. Permanently."

John was incredulous. Anger bubbled to the surface until it burst out of him in a great explosion. "WHAT THE FUCK, SHERLOCK?! If you even think for a moment that... Christ, if you do this FOR ME, I swear to God, I'll follow. I'm not doing this again, not with that kind of guilt added on." John was shaking with fury. How could someone so brilliant get things so screwed up in his mind.

Sherlock blinked slowly then started to respond, "But John..."

John cut him off, "No buts, Sherlock. It's a simple promise. That's what I need from you right now. A simple promise. Tell me that you won't kill yourself. Not now, not ever. Not even to protect us. We can face anything together, Sherlock. Promise me."

The detective met John's intense gaze. He couldn't deny John anything. Not even this. His voice was soft as he spoke, "I... promise John."

Silence fell for a moment. The anger that John felt just a moment ago started fading away being replaced with relief. He just looked at Sherlock. Sherlock, who looked so vulnerable and lost in that moment.

John felt his body leaning toward Sherlock and he accelerated his motion toward the detective, bringing his hands up to cup his face. He paused a moment to allow Sherlock to pull away. When he didn't pull back, he pressed his lips to Sherlock's.

For a moment, Sherlock did not respond. Then he felt Sherlock's lips part beneath his own. They began tentatively, lips sliding against each other, then an urgency surged within both of them. Their tongues explored each other's mouths, teeth, cheeks. They broke away for a moment then came back together, frantic lips exploring each other. Eyes, jawline, neck.

They both paused and caught their breath. Voice shaking, John asked, "Okay?"

Sherlock leaned his head on John's shoulder. "Okay."

And it was.


	5. Chapter 5

Come on up. - JW

On my way, love. - MW

Mycroft, we have him. He is going to be okay. Turn off the sodding cameras. - JW

Already done. I assure you I have no desire to spy on your current activities. - MH

Have you and Mary thought this through? It could lead to disaster. - MH

We have. It won't. Sod off. - JW

* * *

Mary smiled at her boys as she entered the flat. Sherlock's head was resting on John's shoulder. The detective's eyes were closed and it was the most peaceful she had ever seen him.

Sherlock started to raise up but John caught his head and pulled it back down to his shoulder. "It's okay, love. Just stay a bit. Rest." John tried to pour all of the love he felt for the younger man into his reassurance.

Mary kissed the top of John's head, "You two sorted then?"

"Mmh" was the only reply from Sherlock. John gave her a smile and a nod.

They sat in silence for some time. It wasn't an awkward silence. No it was a peaceful one. There was a calm at 221B that had never before settled there since Sherlock had taken up residence.

It was finally Sherlock who broke the silence, sitting up more forcefully as he spoke. "Where do we go now?" His fingers moved to run through his dark curls. "I will be grateful for whatever I can have, but..." Here Sherlock paused. "My experience in relationships is quite limited. A _normal_ relationship is still a mystery to me. How do we do...this with its increased variables? "

"We'll have to figure that out as we go," said Mary. "We have some time before the baby comes so we don't have to rush any major decisions."

John looked blank, but Sherlock nodded his understanding. "Ahh, place of residence, legal issues, and John." Sherlock's voice was very matter of fact. John looked overwhelmed.

Since Mycroft's text, John had been operating in crisis mode. He hadn't thought past the current moment since this began. His mind was reeling to catch up. "Oh, I hadn't thought..." John's voice trailed off.

Sherlock growled, "Really, John. Do catch up."

John and Mary laughed. It was good to have Sherlock _acting_ like Sherlock again.

"Right," said Mary. "Do you want to live with us Sherlock? Don't forget there will be a baby in a few months."

Sherlock could already hear the baby crying. It grated on his nerves. The detective wanted to spoil the child. Teach it about chemistry, deduction, how to plat The Game. However, he was under no illusion as to his ability to deal with the _pedestrian_ aspects of rearing a child. So. "Hmm, no. But close."

John was a bit saddened by Sherlock's response, but he understood. He smiled at Sherlock. "Okay. Alright. We'll search for a flat closer to 221B."

"How about the empty flat here? I'm sure Mrs. Hudson wouldn't object," Mary suggested.

John frowned. "I don't know. Remember, Mrs. Hudson said it was cold and drafty. You do remember, Sherlock. The bombings with Moriarty? "

Sherlock had assumed his thinking pose, hands together beneath his chin. "Of course I remember, John. However, Mycroft might be persuaded to release adequate funds to bring the flat up to your specifications. It shouldn't be dismissed outright".

John found that he rather liked the idea. They would be close to Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson would be nearby to fuss over the baby as she was sure to do. "That's a real possibility. Let's think on it."

Mary hesitantly made a suggestion, "Until we get that sorted, why don't we do this. John, you could spilt your time between us. Maybe three days here, three days at our flat? Then all of us here, say, on Saturdays?"

John objected instantly, "You're not staying alone. Not while you are pregnant."

"I'll be perfectly fine dear," Mary insisted. Really, she wasn't fragile.

"Hmm," Sherlock rumbled. A list of potential complications with pregnancy scrolled through his mind. "I agree completely with John. We won't be leaving you alone."

Mary rolled her eyes. How typical of her boys. They might not exactly be considered normal by the world's standards but they were still _men_. Realy. Had they forgotten that she had been an assassin? Well John probably tried. She could take care of herself. But she loved John, and Sherlock too in a different way.

"Yes you will. At least for the next few months. We'll sort out the living arrangements before it becomes a critical issue." Mary voice was firm. They could tell that she wouldn't be dissuaded.

John and Sherlock exchanged looks. "I've been told never to argue with a pregnant woman, Sherlock." John's eyes twinkled as he spoke.

"Obviously," Sherlock agreed.

"Now, let's table this discussion for later." Mary leaned forward and placed her hands on her boys knees. "I want to give you both something. Something that you both need. I'll go home and pack some of John's things and bring them back here. Then I want to give you a week. Just for the two of you. All of the rest can wait."


	6. Chapter 6

Mary had long since come and gone, leaving John's bags by the flat door. Sherlock and John had spent the last few hours on the sofa in companionable silence, Sherlock's head resting in John's lap. John carding his fingers through the detective's dark curls.

Sherlock had experienced a wild range of emotions since waking. John was sensitive to that and was allowing the younger man time to process the data.

Finally, Sherlock's baritone broke the silence. "So, our own sex holiday? Is that what Mary had in mind?" Sherlock enjoyed watching a blush rise in John's cheeks and the quick smile that accompanied it.

John cleared his throat. "It seems only fair, doesn't it?"

In a quick, fluid motion, Sherlock moved to sit upright next to his doctor. His heterachromatic eyes locked on John's in an intense gaze. John had felt that gaze before, but never with such heat behind it. Then Sherlock spoke, but his gorgeous baritone was a full octave lower than its normal pitch. "Joohhnn, I've waited for you for _so_ long."

"Oh bloody hell, Sherlock," John moaned. "Do you have any idea what your voice does to me?"

Sherlock leaned on close to his doctor, until he was breathing into John's ear, still not touching him. "Hmm," he purred, "you like my voice, John."

John's breath hitched and he closed his eyes, "Oh, God _yes_."

John didn't see the spread of Sherlock's wicked grin. "Don't move, John, just _listen_."

A little jolt of electricitry shot straight to John's cock at the prospect.

And once again, Sherlock started speaking, his voice a veritable purr, "I'm going to kiss you, starting right _here_." The detective pressed his lips just behind the doctor's ear, lapping gently at his flesh as he pulled slightly back. "Then I'm going to trail kisses along you jawline." Sherlock proceeded to match actions to words.

John couldn't believe that he we so hard just from this. "God, Sherlock, I..."

"Hush, John. Remember, no talking." When Sherlock was satisfied that his blogger would stay silent, he resumed his narration. "Mmm. Now I'm going to kiss that mouth. I'll explore every crevice. I'll analyze every taste. Every sensation. There will be a special vault in my Mind Palace where I'll lock it all away. Then later, I'll be able to take the memory out and replay it anytime I desire."

Sherlock did just that, their lips met and parted and the kiss was unlike their previous kisses. It was hot and desperate as Sherlock's tounge glided over every surface of John's mouth. The detective needed data. Every scrap of data that could be added to the sum that defined _John_.

John was more than content to let him collect that data. When the kiss broke, it was John's turn. He attacked Sherlock's long neck with his lips and curled his fingers into the detective's hair. Sherlock quieted and shuddered at his touch. "Don't stop talking, Sherlock."

"Joohhnn, that feels _amazing_." Sherlock threw his head back, allowing John better access to his throat. "Is it always like this?"

John's lips stuttered to a halt. He drew back to look into the detective's eyes. "Sherlock? Um, I...What?"

Sherlock wasn't so far gone that he failed to make a quick deduction about the thoughts that had just entered his partner'mind. "Oh don't be dull. No, I'm not a Virgin, despite Moriarty's use of the _appellation_. The majority of my experience is with men, the one exception being Janine. What I meant was _Is it always like this with someone you love?_ "

John laughed outright with relief. "Fuck, yes. Love has an alchemical effect on sex. It takes something that is already pleasurable and makes it, hmm, transformative."

Sherlock pouted, "Then why did you laugh?"

A fierce blush crept up John's neck. "For a moment I pictured two blokes bumbling around together without a clue what to do with their respective bits."

It was Sherlock's turn to laugh. "Even you should have noticed by now that I am surpassingly intelligent. As for yourself, you are a doctor with a passing knowledge of anatomy," Sherlock teased. "I rather imagine that we could have worked it out." The detective positively leered at John. "Now where were we?" he purred. Reaching to pull John to his throat, he spoke, "I believe you were kissing right along here."


	7. Chapter 7

It should have been the perfect moment to move to the bedroom. John and Sherlock had pulled back to catch their breath and they were both physically aroused. But... Sherlock could tell the moment was not right. John's cock was clearly interested in the proceedings but something was off. **Oh.** The blogger's most important sexual organ, his brain, was starting to disengage.

Was John regretting their current activities? Unbidden, his mind provided the answer. **Very likely. Sexual identity crisis.** He pulled further away from John, searching his eyes. **Not ready. Perhaps never ready.**

John, for his part, was confused. His mind was reeling from the intense snogging session he had just experienced. Why was Sherlock stopping? Breathlessly, he asked "What's wrong."

"You're not ready," came the rumbled reply. "When my hand slipped into your pants, your muscles stiffened, but not in a good way." The distress on Sherlock's face was clear for John to read.

John pitched the bridge of his nose, his arousal quickly dissipating. It wasn't that he wasn't interested in sex with Sherlock. Once he had admitted to himself that he loved the madman, the attraction that he had been suppressing had hit him full force. No, he simply felt like a teenager again experiencing his first sexual encounter. It had been a long time since he had felt this awkward. He had to reassure Sherlock. He had to explain.

"Look, do you remember the awkwardness of your first sexual encounter?" he asked. The look Sherlock gave him was blank. "Oh, it was probably an experiment," John snarked. "I bet you were too involved with recording data in your head to be embarrassed."

Sherlock blinked slowly. "You're embarrassed. You haven't changed your mind then?" Sherlock hated the way that his voice was trembling.

"No, Sherlock. I haven't changed my mind. It just feels like I've jumped off a cliff that I didn't even know was there." John saw Sherlock's face shut down. The detective had put up his mask. "Christ. Don't do that. Don't close me off. I didn't mean it in a bad way. I just haven't had time to think and, yes, I'm a bit confused and more than a bit embarrassed. But I know that I love you and I do want _this_."

John reached out and caressed Sherlock's cheek with his hand. The detective's eyes closed at his touch and the hated mask fell away. John decided that he would take the lead, at least for the moment. He took the detective's hand in his and, standing, pulled him toward the Sherlock's bedroom. He felt resistance, but only for a moment.

Once inside, John sat on the edge of the bed. Sherlock stood just inside the door. _He still doubt's me_ John thought. "Please, will you sit down?"

Sherlock sat but at an unsatisfying distance.

"Come here, you berk." John reached and pulled Sherlock into a close embrace. The detective slowly melted into his arms, a small sob escaping as he nuzzled into John's shoulder.

John's voice was soft and gentle as he spoke, "What's this about, Sherlock. We're here together. We have each other. We have all the time in the world." As he spoke, John raised Sherlock's head to gaze into his eyes. He wiped tears from the detective's cheek with a brush of his thumb.

"I want you so badly that it hurts but I don't want to hurt you. I don't want something you're not ready to give." Sherlock looked away, dreading what he would see in John's eyes.

"I though we had already covered that. I decidedly do want this and I _am_ ready. I think I have wanted this for a long time. I just never admitted it to myself." John smirked, "Well, maybe I admitted it a few times."

Sherlock looked up in surprise then spoke, voice low and purring. "Really, John. Tell me. I would like to hear..."

Laugh lines appeared at the corner of John's eyes. "The first time would have to be when I first saw you in that bloody Purple Shirt of Sex. Christ, it looked incredible on you. I was fairly squirming every time I looked at you. I kept telling myself 'Not gay'. Fat lot if good that did me."

"You named my shirt?" Sherlock was amused.

John blushed. "Right."

The sexual tension was starting to build again. Sherlock nipped at John's neck then growled, "Tell me more."

John was finding it hard to concentrate. "Hmm, other times were a bit not good. We would be at a crime scene and you would be bent over a corpse or examining some bit of evidence." Sherlock licked a stripe along his throat. "Mph. God, don't stop! And those fucking trousers of yours leave nothing to the imagination. I would just find myself admiring that gorgeous arse of yours. Then I would panic that someone would notice. That you would notice."

Now Sherlock's hands resumed their fluttering perusal of John's torso as his lips continued caressing and exploring the blogger's neck.

John's breathing was coming harder now. "Do you realize how distracting your hands are? I love to watch them, whether they are playing the violin or hovering over your microscope. Your fingers are so incredibly long and graceful. I would look at them and wonder how they would feel on me. Again, I would think 'Not gay'. I don't know why it mattered so much. Love should be all that matters and, Christ, I love you Sherlock. I have for so long." John's voice hitched with the emotion he had been holding in.

Sherlock broke off his ministrations to meet the doctor's eyes. They were full of love and hunger. Sherlock's doubts faded away.

John crushed their lips together. It was a bruising impact, full of need and want. "Clothes," John rasped. "May I?" John was reaching questioningly toward Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock lowered his hands and nodded his approval.

Humming his happiness, John leaned in and unbuttoned the top button of Sherlock's shirt. He placed a kiss on the exposed flesh as his hands moved lower to the next button. So he proceeded, button by button, trailing kisses and wet licks down Sherlock's torso. It really wasn't that different than what he had experienced with women. In fact it was heady feeling the trembling in Sherlock's muscles as he worked. This was _Sherlock_. This was incredible.

When he unfastened the last button, John smoothed the shirt down Sherlock's arms, brushing them lightly with his hands. He reveled in the feel of goosebumps rising along the detective's arms. John drew back and simply gazed upon Sherlock's bare chest, "Beautiful."

Sherlock blushed. "My turn. I can finally get rid of that God-awful jumper," he teased. Matching deed to words, Sherlock peeled the jumper from John's torso and flung it across the room with satisfaction. He fairly ripped the shirt from John's form, sending buttons flying.

"Fuck, Sherlock. I liked that shirt," John complained.

Sherlock's answer came in a heated growl, full of need, "I've waited for you for years John. I can't wait any longer. The shirt was in the way. It had to die."

The response was so ridiculous, so _Sherlock_ that John had to laugh.

Inevitably, Sherlock's gaze locked onto John's scar. Past lovers had had differing reactions to it. Most tried to ignore it. Mary admired it. Of course she wasn't exactmy normal. Unsurprisingly, neither was Sherlock.

John watched his lover's face as the detective studied the scar. Sherlock moved his hand over the rough map of its spidery webbing. Then, dipping his head, his ran his lips over every centimeter of the discolored flesh. His tounge darted out to catalog the texture as he moved. When his exploration was complete, he leaned against John's chest, eyes closed. His gorgeous baritone rumbled and John could feel it's reverberations. "I hate that you were wounded. That you had to suffer through that pain." Sherlock looked up to meet John's gaze, "But I can't hate that it ultimately brought you here to me."

Their bodies entwined and their lips met again. John nipped at Sherlock's lip and the younger man groaned as he ground against him. Sherlock's erection was a warm heat burning through his trousers.

"Let's get rid of the rest of these clothes," John urged. They were too eager now and simply shed trousers and pants before moving back together on the bed.

John lay on his back. Sherlock settled between John's knees and purred, "Now there is nothing to come between us." The detective looked positively gleeful.

Sherlock slid his hands along John's thighs as he lowered himself to kiss along the creases at the crest of his hips. He would make this good for John.

Sherlock moved his searching lips neared to John's erection, but did not engage. Not yet. There would be time for that later.

John squirmed beneath him and Sherlock smiled wickedly. He licked a long stripe up John's left side and latched onto his doctor's nipple, teasing it until it raised into a hard nub. John's moan of pleasure shot directly to Sherlock's cock. "John, John, John. You're amazing. You're everything I've ever wanted."

"God, Sherlock, don't stop." John was panting. He wrapped his hands in Sherlock's dark curls, encouraging him to continue.

Sherlock obliged. He swirled his tounge around the hardened nipple one more time before switching to the other side. Here, he suckled as if at an alter, while using his left hand to tease the nipple abandoned by his mouth.

John's back arched into his ministrations, a needy moan escaping his lips. John managed to drop his hands to Sherlock's back, to stroke the long expanse of his torso. He felt the network of scarring under his fingers, but was to far gone to realize the implications. In the moment, it was just another sensation to experience.

Sherlock played him like he played his violin. He brought forth sweeping stanzas of melody. Now rising in crescendo. Now falling in diminuendo. There were moments of legato sensations, soothing in their quietude. There were stacatto sensations that threatened to rip him apart in their demand. It was glorious.

John was coming apart in Sherlock's hands. The detective bent down to take John's cock into his mouth. It was better than he had imagined. This was _John_ that he was tasting, musky and salty, and uniquely John.

"Fuck, Sherlock, I won't last." John's fingers tried to pull Sherlock away, but the detective was having none of it. He worked his tounge over the head of John's cock, swirled it around the sensitive ridge, and dipped down to take its full length into his mouth. John's grip was becoming more insistent, but Sherlock would not be denied.

"Buggering hell! I can't. Can't. Bloody fuck!" John tipped over the edge. His orgasm shot through him, sending great spurts of semen into Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock savored the sensation. Nothing could compare to the taste of _his_ John.

John's entire body was shaking. He brought his left hand up to cover his eyes, all the while murmering, "Bloody hell, bloody hell." 

Sherlock rested his head against John's abdomen, smiling in satisfaction. 

As John's shaking subsided, he became aware of Sherlock's still hard erection pressing into his leg. "Come here you," he urged. Though he felt lethargic, he wouldn't leave his lover unfulfilled. 

When Sherlock had moved up his length to meet his eyes, John flipped them over and straddled the detective's hips. He smiled wickedly and slid down the younger man's long legs until he could survey Sherlock's erection. 

"Lube," John enquired. Sherlock, barely had to stretch his lithe body to extract it from the bedside table. John uncapped the bottle and filled his palm with the slippery substance. He warmed it up between his palms before setting to work. 

The angle was all wrong, but this was something he could do. There would be time for experimentation later. John grasped Sherlock's cock in his left hand and began with slow languorous strokes. He accentuated his motions by fondling the detective's bollocks with his right hand. Sherlock's hips lifted off of the bed as the detective moaned. 

John alternated between long slow strokes and swift tugs and pulls. He flicked his thumb over Sherlock's sensitive head again and again. Sherlock was completely inarticulate in his appreciation, reduced to moans and gasps. The detective's face was flushed, his head turned into the pillow as he fought not to writhe under John's ministrations. 

Sherlock was _amazing_. John wanted to see him unravel. "Come for me, love," he urged. 

John's words released Sherlock's orgasm and with it, his voice. "Jooohhnn," he shouted as his seed shot in white ribbons across the doctor's hand and up Sherlock's pale chest. 

John fell down beside Sherlock. After a few moments they started to giggle. And giggle. And giggle. They giggled until they had tears in their eyes. 

When they had both calmed, John met Sherlock's gaze. "That was fucking amazing." 

Sherlock smiled, "Yes it rather was." 

The detective reached down and grasped his pants from where they lay on the floor and gently wiped John clean before cleaning himself. He threw the pants back on the floor. "Move over. Don't want to get up yet," he husked. 

When John had moved to a dryer portion if the bed, Sherlock entwined himself in the doctor's limbs. Sherlock purred, "I want to stay here forever." 

In that moment, John agreed. 


	8. Chapter 8

John woke to semi-darkness and a tangle of warm limbs. A patch of street-light filtered through the curtains to fall across Sherlock's handsome face. It was completely relaxed, without a sign of the haughty mask that he usually wore. "Amazing" escaped softly from John's lips.

As if in acknowledgment, the detective nuzzled his head deeply into John's shoulder and made a slight huffing sound. They stayed frozen like that for several long minutes.

Finally, Sherlock's voice broke the spell. "You should know..." He broke off then began again, embarrassed. He didn't like talking about his past. The times that he had relinquished control of his mind and body to the cravings for drugs and indiscriminate sex. But this was John. John deserved to know. "I'm clean, John. We should have talked about this before. You're a doctor, I'm surprised you didn't ask... And I don't know what you will want in the future..." His voice faltered again.

John gently threaded his fingers through Sherlock's raven hair and tipped his head back so that he could look the younger man in the eyes. "You're right, I should have asked. As for where we will go, what we will try. Let's just see where things take us. But you're clean. Both Mary and I are clean. I love you. Its _okay_. You don't have to say anything else."

Sherlock shook his head and in one fluid motion, pulled himself up to sit with his knees against his chest. His hands played absently with the wrinkled sheet beneath him.

John sighed and drew himself up to face Sherlock. Clearly, the detective had something that he needed to divulge. If that was what Sherlock needed then John would listen. "Right, then. Go ahead."

Sherlock closed his eyes before beginning. "When I first started using, I was careful. I always used a clean needle. Every time. Then it got worse. I couldn't hold the needle, so I started getting help with the injections. They used whatever they had on hand." Sherlock's arms wrapped around his legs, pulling his knees in tightly to his chest. He started rocking almost imperceptibly.

John wanted to reach out to him to offer comfort but restrained himself. This was something Sherlock needed to work through on his own.

"When the high had hit, they knew I would be pliable, suggestable. It didn't take much to initiate sex. I _wanted_ it. I was extremely fortunate. During rehab, Mycroft had me tested. He's had me tested regularly every since." Sherlock sounded defeated. "Its one of the few things that I find easier to submit to than fight. He would probably use force if I did resist." He dropped his head to rest it on his knees. "I still want it, you know. The drugs. I always will."

John felt a pain in his chest for the other man. "I know. That's what being an addict means. I still love you. I'll be here for you. I'll help you fight it whenever you feel the craving. Mary will help you. You'll never have to face it alone." Now John did reach out and pull Sherlock to him, soothing him with soft touches and whispered comfort.

After quite some time had passed, Sherlock's shoulders started shaking. It took a moment for John to realize that they were shaking with laughter.

John wasn't naive. They would return to this topic many times in the future but he was content to let it rest for now if Sherlock was, so he lightened his tone, "Oi, let me in on the joke, will you?"

Sherlock unfurled his lithe form and stretched, his distress of moments ago apparently forgotten in his mirth. "We're quite the mess this morning. We both need a shower and you need breakfast. "

John fixed the detective with a level stare, "I'm not eating unless you do Sherlock."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Fine. I'll get a shower first. You call Mary and make sure that she is okay. After that, I'll fix us _both_ breakfast while you shower."

John gaped, "You can cook?" He had thought that Sherlock's knowledge of the kitchen was limited to coffee, tea, and biohazards.

Sherlock smirked, delighted at John's show of surprise, "Obviously."


	9. Chapter 9

The meal turned out to be simple: toast with eggs, scrambled with smoked salmon and fresh spinach. John tucked in with relish. “Where did you get the ingredients for this? I know you didn’t have anything in the flat. You never do.”

Sherlock gave John an impatient glance, “Mrs. Hudson, obviously.”

John swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin before asking, “Exactly how have I known you for this long without finding out you could cook? This,” he gestured at his plate, “is fantastic.”

Sherlock gave John his special half smile. “If I had cooked before now, you would have insisted that I cook on a regular basis rather than when I felt the desire. It would have been _dull_.”

John smirked, “This is better than anything Mary has ever made. So you’re in for it and you’re right, I will pester you often. You’ll have to cook just to shut me up. When did you learn to cook, anyway?”

As usual, Sherlock preened beneath John’s praise. “It was a couple of years before we met. It was…”

John joined in, already knowing the answer. “For a case.” The doctor shook his head in amusement. “Right. So you learned to cook for a case. How did that work?” John was genuinely curious.

Sherlock toyed with a fork, occasionally reaching to take a bite from John’s plate. Food tasted better when the detective did that. Illogical, but true none the less. “I owed a favor to a friend. The case involved blackmail. The facts of the case became glaringly obvious after the first two cooking classes. It was quite simple really.”

John shook his head, trying to picture Sherlock in a cooking class. He failed miserably. “So, what? Two classes and you were an expert chef?”

Sherlock huffed, “Don’t be dull, John. I finished the course. I found it to be surprisingly gratifying.”

When the doctor had finished his meal, Sherlock drew him up by the hand and pulled him to the sofa in the other room. He pressed the doctor into the cushions. Dropping to his knees in front John, he placed his head on the smaller man’s lap, eyes closed, contented.

John leaned down to place a kiss on Sherlock’s brow. Abruptly, the mood changed from one of quite domesticity to one of fevered longing. The detective tipped his head back in entreaty and John obliged him, trailing kisses down the edge of the detective’s face to his neck and throat.

“Yoo hoo, Sherlock,” called out Mrs. Hudson as she entered the flat. Before the men could pull apart, she let out a distressed cry of “Oh!” and fled down the stairs.

“Well bloody hell,” groaned John. He jumped up from the sofa and followed the woman down the stairs. “Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson!” John reached the door to her flat and knocked. “Mrs. Hudson! It’s not what you think. Well, it is, but it’s not. Please, let me explain!” **Thank God, we’re wearing our pajamas.**

Sherlock stepped up behind John and called out, “Mrs. Hudson, don’t be and idiot! Open the door this minute.”

John rolled his eyes, “A bit not good, Sherlock. This is bad enough already.”

Just then, Mrs. Hudson opened the door. She was holding a kerchief to her mouth. “Come in if you must, but how could you John? Mary, the baby…”

John stepped in, followed closely by Sherlock. The git didn’t say anything. It seemed that John would be left do the talking. **Right.**

John straightened his spine, falling into his Captain John Watson stance. This was after all, going to be a formal engagement. “Mrs. Hudson, what you saw, well, Mary knows.”

Mrs. Hudson cried, “Oh, John.”

“No, no, no. It’s not like that. It was her idea. The three of us, we’re good.” John stumbled over his words. “You know the three of us together. Well, not exactly together. Not at the same time. Fuck. Oh, sorry Mrs. Hudson.” John had turned absolutely crimson. He hadn’t felt this awkward since… No he had _never_ felt this awkward. “You can call Mary if you want…”

Somehow, the older lady pieced all of John’s words together and made sense of them. Relief and understanding flooded her eyes. Mrs. Hudson smiled and reached out a hand to touch John’s cheek, “I see, John, dear. If that’s the case, then I hope you will all be very happy.”

Stunned, John looked from Mrs. Hudson to Sherlock and back. He blinked his eyes to clear them. Surely he had not heard the woman correctly. “Mrs. Hudson?”

She laughed. “John, my husband ran a drug cartel. I’ve seen everything. There is absolutely nothing new under the sun. And I _will_ call Mary, but only to tell her that she is a dear for taking care of you two.” Mrs. Hudson drew both of the men into a tight embrace, then shoved them toward the door. “Now you two run along and finish whatever it was that I interrupted. Just, please lock the door. I’m far too old for such excitement.”

The men found themselves abruptly shoved into the hallway just below the stairs. They leaned against the wall in stunned silence. Abruptly, John started to giggle. His giggles bloomed into genuine laughter. When Sherlock joined in, they found themselves laughing so hard that tears were forming in the corners of their eyes. John looked over at Sherlock, gasping, “Christ. She is a remarkable woman. Who would have thought?”

The look on Sherlock’s face was unusually tender. “There is a reason I have always cared for her John.”

John closed his eyes and hummed. “That felt so good. I haven’t laughed like that for such a long time. You?” He hadn’t intended to darken the mood, but he felt something heavy fall between them.

“Not since before The Fall.” Sherlock was peering intently at the floor.

John rolled around against the wall and caged Sherlock with his arms. He watched Sherlock intently for a moment, trying to understand the feelings that he had just stirred within the detective. Unable to, he simply tucked his arms around the man and leaned in close, offering comfort with his touch. “It’s over now, you know. Truly. We’ve both made mistakes since then, but we’re together now.”

“Thanks to Mary,” Sherlock agreed.

“Thank God she has enough sense for the three of us.” John tightened his grip on Sherlock. “Mary and I will never let you go.”

Sherlock’s arms rose to embrace John causing the flesh of his back to ripple beneath the doctor’s hands. The feel of Sherlock’s bare back from the day before flashed into John’s mind. Combined with what he now felt through Sherlock’s pajama top, the pieces fell into place. **Scars.**

John had patched Sherlock up numerous times prior to The Fall. There hadn’t been any scars then. He hadn’t had occasion to see the detective’s back in the intervening time. Yesterday, John had been caught up in the moment, lost to the sensations of a new and heady experience. It was time to find out what had happened to cause such damage. He would have to be careful, he knew, or Sherlock would shut down.

Pulling away, John threaded the fingers of his hand into Sherlock’s hand. “Let’s go.” Sherlock allowed himself to be guided up the seventeen stairs to their flat.

Sherlock turned without releasing John’s hand and closed and locked the door to the flat. His mind had already started focusing on John and how he could please the wonderful man that meant so much to Sherlock’s heart.

A gentle tug from John started Sherlock moving again. He settled back on the couch next to the doctor and began to lean in.

“No, let me.” John reached out and gently, lovingly drew Sherlock’s dressing gown from his shoulders and off of his arms. Next, he trailed his hands down to the seam of Sherlock’s pajama top and pulled it up and over the detective, dropping it to the floor.

Sherlock could feel John’s eyes traveling over his body as if they carried a heat of their own. Perversely, the sensation sent a shiver down his spine. The detective wanted to reciprocate. His hands reached for John, but the doctor caught them tightly in his own rough hands.

Guilt hovered in the back of John’s mind but he know that he had to approach the subject obliquely. This was manipulative, John knew, but anything else would allow Sherlock to shutter away his thoughts. This _might_ even cause that great mind to stutter in its deductions, at least for a moment.

John allowed his hands to trail down Sherlock’s arms, enjoying the sensation, even as his thoughts raced. There was a faint roughness at the detective’s wrists that John had not noticed before. John dropped Sherlock’s left hand, and pulled the detective’s right hand to his lips to place a kiss on the pale scar that he found at the wrist. He felt Sherlock stiffen. “Tell me.” John kept his voice calm and soothing. He met Sherlock’s gaze with what he hoped was understanding and acceptance. He would wait as long as Sherlock needed.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock froze, every muscle in his body going ridgid. **Idiot.** He should have expected this. Oh, if his mind had not been clouded by pain and then ecstasy, he would have expected this then he could have planned accordingly. Now he just wanted to escape. He tried to pull away.

John's hands tightened on Sherlock's wrists enough to discourage him pulling away but not enough to hurt. "Its okay, Sherlock. You don't have to say anything. Just... Can I see?" John had kept his voice calm and reassuring.

If Sherlock let John see, then he would know that the detective had made mistakes. John would see the ugly evidence of his great stupidity. It was all there written upon his body. There would be no more utterances of "amazing" or "brilliant". There would be only pity. There would be no murmured praises of "beautiful" or "gorgeous". There would be only disgust.

The keening coming from Sherlock truly alarmed John. He didn't even think Sherlock knew he was making a sound. " Hush. Hush, Sherlock. Its okay. I'm sorry. So sorry. You don't have to show me anything. Its all alright." John stroked Sherlock's arms soothingly.

John's words and tone of voice penetrated Sherlock's panic and calmed him somewhat. He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing. This was _John_. If he could trust anyone, he reasoned, it would be John. Besides, he would have to risk it sooner or later.

"John." He took a shaky breath before continuing, "I need you to look. I need to get this over with. Please."

John looked at him long and hard before agreeing. "Okay." He released Sherlock's wrists.

Sherlock turned where he sat, revealing his back to John's sight for the first time. The network of scarring was worse than he had imagined. John closed his eyes and forced himself not to make a sound. After a few moments, he asked, "Can I touch them?"

With a trembling voice, Sherlock replied, "Yes."

John reached out with his left hand and touched the worst of the scars, a long broad stripe that extended from his right shoulder down to his hip. It had to have been excruciating when inflicted. It looked to have been a deep cut that had gotten infected and stretched wide before it had a chance to heal. John bent down and kissed the length of it. Sherlock shuddered beneath his touch.

Why was John doing this? He should be turning away from the sight. Sherlock questioned him, "John? What are you doing?"

"Don't you know? You did it yourself to my shoulder," John explained. "I'm worshiping the scars that ultimately led you back to me."

John's words came as a shock to Sherlock. He had never equated the two situations: John getting shot and Sherlock being tortured. _No._ "Its not the same," he whispered.

John was kissing a series of burn scars across Sherlock's shoulders. "Why not?"

Sherlock found his voice. "Your scar was nobly earned in battle in service to your country. Without it, we would never have met. I hate that you suffered, but I can't hate your scar. Mine..." His voice faltered. "There is nothing noble about them. They come from my own stupidity. I was pursuing a selfish goal and I nearly failed. I nearly failed you." To his shame, his eyes were full of tears.

Before John could stop himself, the word slipped out. "Idiot." He continued kissing Sherlock's scars. "Each of these scars _is_ noble. Each one represents your fight to return to me. They show that you didn't give up. You kept your will to survive. You didn't break. If you made a mistake, there were reasons. When you're ready, you'll explain them to me."

John broke off his kisses. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and rested his head against the other man's back.

Sherlock relaxed into his embrace, his head bowed. He could accept John's comfort for now. Perhaps he would come to believe his words in time. "Thank you, John. I can't talk about it yet... Maybe one day."

John hugged him tightly. "Whenever you're ready. Not before."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggger warning for flashbacks on torture. Detailed discussion of methods and resulting trauma.

The remainder of the day had passed in quite domesticity, much as the days had passed before The Fall. There were differences and a measure of awkwardness. Sherlock moved like an injured creature, ready to bolt at a sudden sound. John's every move and utterance was designed to put the detective at ease and to express his love and acceptance.

At length, day gave way to evening which gave way to night. John was emotionally as well as physically exhausted. He rose to go to bed but hesitated. Should he go to his old room or to Sherlock's? Would the detective want his companionship or his own space? "Sherlock, I'm completely nackered. Where..."

Sherlock looked as though he had been slapped. To John's horror, tears, real tears, swam in Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock turned his face away to hide his tears. "I understand. You don't have to sleep in my room." He sounded heart broken.

"Christ. Sherlock, I _want_ to sleep in your room with _you_. I was afraid you wanted space. That you wouldn't want me there tonight." John put all of the sincerity and urgency into his voice that he could summon. "Never think otherwise."

John reached out and turned Sherlock's face to look at him. He wiped away the tears and kissed the damp trails the tears had left. "Better?"

Sherlock smiled weakly. "Better." He still sounded small. **Sherlock should never sound small.**

John took Sherlock's hand in his and led him to Sherlock's bed. There were no thoughts of sex as they settled beneath the covers. Rather there was comfort and love. That was quite enough to be getting on with as they drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The pain in his shoulders had long passed aching. It was a burning, ripping pain. His slightest movement sent shockwaves of screaming fire through his shoulders. They made sure he moved.

After the first few hours, they had discovered the hard streak of stubbornness that ran through their prisoner. Now, they weren't asking questions. They were working him over. Softening him up. The questions would come later. Much later.

Sherlock would have preferred the questions. They gave him something to resist.

A sharp flair of pain blossomed along the right side of his back. They had cut a long gash from shoulder to hip. Sherlock jerked involuntarily, ripping the skin at his wrists anew. His shoulders blazed. Blood streamed. Sherlock screamed.

* * *

John was jarred awake by Sherlock's scream. Thanks to his time in action in the Army, he came awake instantly and fully alert. It only took moments for him to assess the situation. Sherlock was having nightmare but not a simple nightmare. This had been brought on by John's questioning. **Fuck.**

Without touching the other man, John called out, "Sherlock! Sherlock, you're dreaming. You're safe at 221B. I'm here. Its John. You're safe. Please, wake up."

Slowly, John's words penetrated Sherlock's nightmare and he calmed a bit but not enough to satisfy John. He slowly reached out and placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

The detective's eyes snapped open. For a moment, he looked lost. When his eyes finally focused on John, he let out a small cry and pulled the older man close in a desperate embrace.

John didn't press. He knew better from his own experience. He just offered what comfort he could. It was a shock when Sherlock started speaking.

Sherlock's eyes were tightly shut as he spoke. "It was the Serbs, Moriarty's last cell. I was an Idiot. Two years of hiding, hunger, running, planning" He paused. 'Killing. " He shuddered. "I was tired unto death of it all."

John fought not to react. He kept his muscles relaxed and simply held Sherlock in silence.

"That's why I made mistakes. I wanted it to be over. I rushed my plans when I should have moved even more carefully. It was my own idiocy that allowed them to capture me." Sherlock's voice had grown detached.

"They asked such inane questions knowing that I would never answer. If I had answered just once, I would have been lost. My mind would have been open to them to pick apart" Sherlock shuddered in John's embrace.

"It was more difficult when they stopped asking questions. There were no words to distract me." For a moment, Sherlock's eyes cleared. "There are so many ways to parse sentences, John. One can count the number of words or letters, of course. But the possibilities are limitless. One can count the possible groupings of three letters or the number of occurrences of the letter 'e'. Anything, really, to keep the mind occupied and ignore the pain." He paused, "Without the questions..."

John noticed that Sherlock referred to his torturers as "they" rather than identifying specific individuals. It was a method of dissociation.

Sherlock continued, "Have you ever been burned with intent. Of course not. Its different than anything you could imagine. When you normally get burned, you pull away from the source and treat the burn. This. They pressed the iron into my shoulder and there was no pulling away. The pain and the _smell_. I remember the smell just before I passed out."

John was fighting back nausea. He knew these men were dead. He wished that they weren't. He wanted to torture and kill them himself for what they had done to this wonderful man.

Sherlock was still speaking, his voice once again distant. "I woke to the pain of the burn. They must have enjoyed my reaction. Four more times the heated iron was pressed into my flesh. You saw the line of burns across my shoulders. I passed out each time."

Sherlock fell silent. John thought that he was through talking for the night and was relieved. John's heart was aching enough as it was.

Sherlock began again. "They left me hanging after that. Only beating me when I threatened to fall asleep. That didn't happen for hours, of course. The worst one enjoyed screwing his thumb into my burns. I wish I had killed him. It was one of Mycroft's men that finished him off. The others just beat me with a pipe."

John screwed his eyes shut. **Christ. _Just_ beat with a pipe. The fuckers.**

Sherlock continued, "I remember when they started to get serious. They really wanted to soften me up. That's when they gave me the cut. I remember the slice of pain as the knife traveled from shoulder to hip. They sliced deep. I don't know which one held the cut open while the other rubbed dirt into the wound. I only remember the pain and their laughter as I tried to pull away."

"After that, the torment came regularly. Small cuts on the balls of my feel, the palms of my hands. I'm sure you noticed the pattern on my back. They said it was 'decorative'. I don't know why they never returned to the burns. That would have broken me." Sherlock's voice shook with the revelation.

"Then a new man came. I knew, then, that the end was near. They would break me and get their answers then kill me or I would die before I divulged any information. I determined that it would be the later." A small smile made its way into his voice.

"I deduced the torturers. Imagine my surprise when I realised that the new man was Mycroft. I had sent him a message telling him the location of the last cell but I had never dared hope for rescue." Sherlock shook his head before continuing. "I don't remember what I said but one of my tormenters grew furious at a deduction I made and stormed away. After that, it gets confusing. Once I was secured, Mycroft's men took out the cell. Mycroft brought me to a safe location and saw to my medical care. Shortly thereafter, I returned to London."

Sherlock burried his face in John's shoulder. They remained silent for a long time.

"I don't know why I told you that," Sherlock confessed.

John hugged him. "I'm glad you did." He paused. "God, I'm so sorry for hitting you when you came back. For knocking you onto your back. It had to be excruciating. God I'm sorry."

Sherlock burrowed more deeply into John's neck. "Not your fault. Its over."

"Right," John agreed. "Its over." He knew it wasn't. He had his own experience to guide him. There would be nightmares and othet issues to come. He didn't tell Sherlock.


	12. Chapter 12

John woke with an armful of detective. He smiled to see the look of peace on Sherlock's face. Then he remembered the events of the night before. Anger surged through him for those who had hurt his lover. Sadness followed close on its heels for the pain Sherlock had suffered. He wanted to erase it all. To make it as if it had never happened. It was not to be.

John extracted himself from Sherlock's limbs and padded to the kitchen. He put the kettle on to boil and contemplated the day ahead. Should he call it off or push ahead? No. If he let things like last night change his plans, then they could never hope to have a normal life. He thought of Mary and smiled. Nothing much was normal about their lives.

John checked the time. They had really slept in. It was a testimony to Sherlock's emotional state that the man was still asleep. Still, it would give him time to talk to Mary.

John prepared his tea and settled into his chair for the call.

"John," Mary's voice was bright with pleasure at his call. "How are you two doing?"

John struggled for a moment before answering. "Overall, we're good. Sherlock had a nightmare. It was... Bad."

"Oh, John, I'm sorry. Do you want to tell me about it?" Mary sounded concerned.

Though Mary couldn't see him, John shook his head. "No. If you hear about it, you should hear from Sherlock. But that's not why I'm calling. I wanted to know if you were ready."

John could hear Mary's smile in her voice. "Yes, love. I have it right here. I've had it since the day after we selected our own. I'll bring it over whenever you ask."

"Good. I don't want to wait another day. You have no idea how much he needs this." Sherlock was so insecure. He had always been, really. John was determined to give him a symbol of security.

Mary laughed. "Yes I do. Sherlock pretends to be indestructible but I think he may be the most vulnerable person I've ever met. He just hides it from the world."

"I can't argue that. Can you be here for lunch? Pick up Angelo's?" John smiled remembering their first case.

"Don't worry, love. I'll be there."

"Thanks. Love you"

"Love you."

* * *

Sherlock heard John talking indistinctly in the other room. He roused himself and made his way to the loo. Sherlock remembered last night vividly and he wasn't eager to face John this morning. Sherlock stretched his ablutions as long as he could then made his way to the common area. He couldn't quite bring himself to meet John's eyes.

Fortunately, John had been expecting this reaction. He had felt the same way the first few times after waking in 221B from his own nightmares. This time, they had a luxury that had been denied them then. John rose from his chair and embraced Sherlock where he stood. He held on until Sherlock's stiff form relaxed into the embrace.

"Good?"

Sherlock growled, "Good." He breathed in John's scent and tucked his head in closer. "I don't deserve you."

John was having none of it. "You deserve everything good and wonderful in the world. I intend to see that you get it all." John grasped Sherlock's head gently and tipped his head so he could place a soft kiss on his lips.

Sherlock rewarded him with the beginnings if a smile.

"Sorry about that. Morning breath." John grimaced. I'll just pop to the loo and take care of that, yeah."

Sherlock laughed. "Right. I'll cook breakfast."

"Oi, not much, okay. Just toast. It's almost eleven and I have something special coming at noon." John couldn't hide a large smile. Let the git deduce him all he liked. Sherlock would never figure this out. He wasn't in possession of the salient facts.

John was clearly proud of himself for hiding his surprise. Sherlock would not disabuse him of his belief in his success. Obviously, John had ordered Angelo's in tribute to their first case together. It was overly sentimental but so typically a _John_ thing to do that he would treasure it.

John emerged from the loo and they enjoyed tea, toast, and crap telly for a time.

After a while, John suggested that they dress for the day. "And dig out that purple shirt while you're about it."

Sherlock leered at him.

John blushed furiously. "Its nothing like that, Sherlock. I just want us to look nice, yeah."

John beat a hasty retreat to his old room. Mary had planned ahead. In her packing was John's best suit. The blue shirt and tie combined with the grey suit made his eyes shine like sapphires. They would never be a match for Sherlock's eyes, he thought, but they could hold their own.

John returned down the stairs only to stop in his tracks at the sight of Sherlock in his tailored suit and the purple shirt. John allowed his eyes to roam over Sherlock's lithe figure, freely taking in every inch of the other man's physique. John smiled at the buttons on Sherlock's shirt. The git had to buy his shirts a size too small on purpose. Still, it made for quite the sight.

Sherlock slinked over to John. "You look stunning."

John laughed. Of the two people in the room, he knew which one looked stunning. It wasn't John. "Says Mr. GQ."

Sherlock frowned. "Show me someone who disagrees and I'll break their leg. You are. Obviously. Stunning." Sherlock's gaze bore intensely into John's own.

John was uncomfortable with the compliment and was saved from having to form a reply by a knock on the door. It had to be Mary. After yesterday, Mrs. Hudson was likely to give them a few days "alone time". Anyone else would have buzzed.

Sherlock had, of course, deduced this within moments. He gave John a puzzled look, then opened the door allowing Mary to step in. She was carrying Angelo's.

John stepped around Sherlock and, taking the packages, gave Mary a hug and a kiss. He stepped into the kitchen and put the food on a clean portion of counter and returned to the common room.

Mary had taken Sherlock into a fierce hug and placed a kiss on his cheek. The detective looked stunned.

"Sorry for the ambush, love, but John and I have a surprise for you." Mary's smile set Sherlock at ease.

John took one of Sherlock's hands in his own while Mary grasped the other. Together they guided Sherlock to the sofa. They all three sat, Sherlock in the middle.

John fiddled with the small package that he had retrieved from their lunch.

"Sherlock." John drew the other man's attention. "While I am apparently a complete idiot. Mary is a genius. The day after we selected our rings, she went back to the jewelry store and purchased this." John handed Sherlock the package.

For once, Sherlock didn't deduce the package's contents. He merely let his mind float.

"Open it," John urged.

With a jerk, Sherlock opened the box. Within was a ring. He knew instantly that it matched John's own. Once again, he found tears rolling down his cheeks. He had cried more in the last 24 hours than he had in the last 24 years of his entire life.

John asked, "Do you like it?"

Slipping it onto his finger, Sherlock replied with John's line, "God, yes."


	13. Chapter 13

Lunch had long passed. The three of them had laughed at inane jokes and watched a bit of crap telly. Finally, John slipped off to the loo and Mary took her chance.

"Sherlock, I want to give John a gift of sorts." She sounded nervous.

Sherlock gave her an appraising look. "Really Mary, a _threesome_? I had thought we would be exclusive on our own time."

Mary moved closer to Sherlock, not quite touching, face upturned. He recognized the look. It was the one she had worn when plotting to get them working cases again before the wedding. Sherlock had already lost.

He scrunched up his face, nose crinkling. "Why?"

Mary laughed. "I don't want John to have a sudden attack of doubt. You know how he is. He thinks of eveyone else first. I don't want him to worry that _we_ aren't happy and pull back from either of us."

Sherlock's voice was a low rumble. "From me you mean."

With a sigh, Mary nodded and tentatively hugged the detective. "So let's show him, yeah?"

Slowly, Sherlock wrapped his arms around the blond. "You're a treasure Mary. Where would we be without you?"

She smiled her sunny smile and tipped her head back. "You would be completely lost."

John emerged from the loo to find his wife and lover in a loose embrace.

"Oi, there. I step out for a moment and you two are going at it." He was smiling as he spoke.

Mary and Sherlock broke apart, Sherlock taking the lead and veritably slinking to John's side. Mary was close behind. They sandwiched him between them, wrapping him close in their arms.

"Right." John coughed."This is nice..." He choaked off what he had been going to say when they each started peppering him with kisses. Sherlock along his forhead and over his eyelids. Mary along his collarbone and neck.

"Definitely nice," John murmured.

Mary's hands slid up into John's hair and Sherlock's large hands found their way beneath his blue buttondown to glide over his flesh. That quickly, John's mind short-circuited. He had _never_ imagined this scenario. **Christ. Bloody hell.**

In a complete daze, John let himself be led to Sherlock's bedroom. There, Sherlock and Mary guided John onto the bed. The detective continued plying John with roving kisses and genius hands while Mary removed and set aside her clothing.

Sherlock divided his attention enough to admire her form in a purely academic fashion. She had hips that curved just so. Breasts that John would find appealing, though they were starting to fill out more from the pregnancy, as was her abdomen. Her weight gain was within acceptable limits for this point in her pregnancy. Her limbs were surely in a proportion to her body that delighted John. All around, a good physical match to her intellect, which Sherlock found to be more formidable than most. She was a good match for their John.

Mary shot a glance at Sherlock which cleary said "I know what you were doing. Stop it. This is about John."

Sherlock blushed and allowed Mary to take over his ministrations. He quickly divested himself of the suit he had been wearing, purple shirt and all, then moved to sit opposite Mary on the bed.

"We need to get your clothes off love," Mary crooned.

John was too far gone to offer more than a whimper as a reply.

Sherlock and Mary locked eyes. They were finding this to be fun _It was Christmas!_

Each taking a sleeve of John's suit coat, they pulled the coat from John's arms and away from his torso. As one, they leaned in and kissed beneath his earlobes and down his neck. As they reached his collar, Sherlock used his long thin fingers to undo the blue tie that John still wore. He tossed it aside. Mary reached and unfastened the top button of his shirt.

While Mary worked over the portion of jawline available to her, Sherlock licked the exposed flesh at the crest of John's blue shirt. The detective slowly unbuttoned each remaining button, alternating between long slurps and slow kisses as he worked his way down John's chest.

When the shirt was fully unbuttoned, Sherlock started to remove it. Mary took the hint and pulled it from John's arms and back. Sherlock had moved to his knees on the floor before John to have better access to his chest. This gave Mary more room to work. She moved beyond John and attacked this back with fervor.

Mary massaged John's shoulders and moved slowly down with her hands simply kneeding and stroking. At the same time, Sherlock pinched and teased his nipples. The mixed signals to his body were dazzling.

Finally, Mary mercifully resolved the two sensations when she licked a stripe up his backbone. Reaching around him, she took unzipped his fly and freed his cock from his pants. John's breath hitched.

John widened his knees as far as his slacks would allow. He felt Sherlock slip into the small opening and press against Mary's hand enclosing John's cock. Blood rushed to engorge it impossibly more. Sherlock had placed his talented mouth along John's collar bone. Mary echoed the move along his back. John let about a cry as he jerked between them. "Jesus! Sherlock! Mary!"

His two lovers laughed with glee, drawing back. Mary pushed John down onto the matress. Then, together, they removed John's socks and shoes. Next, the peeled John's slacks and pants from his body in one long motion. John was left panting and exposed on the bed.

Together, Sherlock and Mary maneuvered John to the center of the bed. John rolled to hover over Mary, his left leg between her thighs. Sherlock positioned himself halfway hovering over John and halfway over the bed, his left leg between John's left leg and Mary's left leg. Sherlock rumbled, "What do you want, John? What can we give you that you have never had?"

That voice made John shudder between his lovers and his arms almost collapsed where he hovered over Mary. "Christ." That was the only word he managed.

Mary smiled up at him and placed a long kiss on his lips, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and along his teeth. When she pulled back, John took a moment to catch his breath. "I want to come inside my gorgeous wife and I want _you_ to come inside of me." John tipped his head back with his last words.

Sherlock froze at John's words. The detective wanted nothing more than to come inside John but the other man had just admitted his bisexual orientation the day before. Was he ready for this? "John, are you sure that this is what you want?"

John didn't hesitate. "Yes. Absolutely. I want to feel you inside. To be as close to you as possible."

Sherlock nuzzled into John's neck. "Okay. But promise that you will tell me if I hurt you. I never want to hurt you."

"I promise," was John's simple reply.

Mary shifted beneath the two men, bringing her chest more on a level with John's head. With one hand, she cradled John's head between her breasts. She slid the other hand down between her legs, finding her clitoris and working it with her fingers. She kissed the crown of John's head as she worked herself languidly, not wanting to achieve climax, just preparing herself for John.

John, moved his head to the side and took a mouthful of Mary's breast into his mouth. He worked his way to her left nipple, suckling at it like a babe. He moved between her breasts, giving equal attention to each.

Sherlock contemplated his best approach. He wanted to make John's first experience with anal sex enjoyable. He would prepare his lover carefully. He knelt up and kneaded John's arse cheeks. He worked slowly, moving gently inward toward his hole. Sherlock reached around and tugged at John's bollocks as he parted John's cheeks and leaned in to place a kiss on John's puckered hole, laving it with his tongue.

John jerked involuntarily. "Fuck. Christ. Bloody Hell." All thoughts of tending to Mary's breasts were forgotten in the sensations he was experiencing.

For her part, Mary was delighted. She took in the total look of shock and arousal on John's face and let loose unbridled laughter.

John tried to give her a disdainful look but just then, Sherlock swirled his tongue around John's hole and laved at it again with a ravenous hunger. John came undone. He squirmed beneath that talented tongue, reveling in the sensation.

Mary moved her hand from her clit to John's hard cock and gave it a few hard strokes. She rubbed her fingers over the tip through the pre cum and then worked them back down to her slit. She continued to cradle and kiss the top of John's head.

Sherlock withdrew his tongue from John's hole and reached for the lube. John's ring of muscles were well relaxed. Sherlock worked some lube through his fingers, warming it before proceeding. Gently, Sherlock rubbed with his index finger in circles around John's hole until finally, of its own accord, his finger was pulled in. He held still for a moment then slowly began to stroke with his finger, in and out again. Sherlock avoided John's prostate. John wanted _Sherlock_ to come in him and Sherlock wanted to make John feel good when he did. The detective placed a kiss at the base of John's back.

John didn't know what he had expected, but this was not it. Sherlock was being so patient and gentle. He didn't know that Sherlock understood the meaning of either word. John was grateful for it. The sensations were amazing and unexpected. The detective was orchestrating every move. Composing a masterwork with his mouth and hands.

Sherlock's baritone rumbled in its lower register, "Are you okay?"

John mumbled an affirmative, too far gone to answer with complete words.

Sherlock added another finger to John's hole and continued his gentle motions, in and out. He accentuated his motions with small kisses along John's back and arse.

Mary played along from time to time, tugging at John's bollocks and stroking his cock before returning to stroke her clit.

After ascertaining that, yes, John was still okay, Sherlock added a third and final finger. Stretching and stroking John from the inside out.

John was a complete mess between Mary and Sherlock. He had been reduced to incoherency, to a bundle of sensation, to a creature of pure arousal.

Sherlock withdrew his fingers and John strained back at the loss of contact feeling suddenly empty.

"Mary, we'll need to reposition a bit." Sherlock's tone was matter of fact, not sultry.

They separated and rolled John limply to the side. At his whimper, Mary reassured him, "Its only for a moment, love."

Sherlock placed a pillow beneath Mary's hips. Together, they maneuvered John between her thighs, lifting her legs over his shoulders. "John," Sherlock purred, his sultry baritone back full force, "I want you to enter your wife but stay still for me. Can you do that?"

His only reply was a whimper as John complied. Mary smiled. The _look_ on John's face was well _precious_.

Sherlock growled in John's ear, "Now lean forward a bit. No, a bit more. I know its awkward." When John and Mary were positioned just right, Sherlock stopped him. "Just there. Tell me if you want me to stop."

Sherlock lubed his cock and aligned it with John's hole. The positioning was not ideal so he would have to proceed with exceeding caution. Gently, he began to push against John's hole. John tensed momentarily, then relaxed against the intrusion. Slowly, Sherlock's cock penetrated the ring of muscles around John's hole. With a gentle glide, he was in. The three of them held their positions for a long moment, then "Okay?"

John shuddered with the burning pleasure of the stretch then replied, "Okay."

Sherlock began to slowly thrust and pull back, ever mindful that for John this was virgin territory. He finally felt John's own thrusts into Mary and sought to match them. As Sherlock grew more confident, he sought out John's prostate with each stroke. He could feel John's reaction each time he thrust against his prostate. John would shudder and his hips would thrust wildly into Mary. She in turn would cry out John's name. The detective found it oddly arousing to be fucking John's wife by proxy. He would have it no other way.

The sensations were building too fast for John. The warmth of Mary wrapped around his cock combined with Sherlock thrusting inside of him. He was coming apart. It was too much to process. With a flash of white light and a tightening of his muscles, John came. The first coherent words leaving his mouth in minutes, "Bloody hell! Fuck! Christ!"

His tightening of John's muscles around his own cock and John's words tipped Sherlock over the edge. He was coming inside of John and it was more glorious than he had imagined.

For her part, Mary was a few moments in following. She worked her clit furiously to the image of the two men coming together. When she came, she was inarticulate, her head flung back, body tingling all over.

The three of them collapsed on the filthy sheets. There was really no space left sanitary after their acrobatics and mutual pleasure. Realizing this, they all three giggled.

Surprisingly, John was the first to recover. "Christ, that was amazing..." His sentence fell short.

Sherlock hummed.

Mary smiled, then frowned. "I think I hear a but in that somewhere."

Sherlock turned to John with a frown.

John smiled and laughed again. "It just, you two took me apart. It was absolutely lovely. But... I couldn't participate properly. You two shut me down completely!"

John's lovers shared a knowing smile.

Sherlock growled, "That was generally the idea."

Mary nodded her agreement.

To this, John could only shake his head. "You, Sherlock are a madman. And you, Mary are a madwoman. Of course, I stepped into madness myself long ago." He paused before adding, "I like our brand of madness. But let's save this for special occasions, yeah?"

Sherlock and Mary didn't argue, they just snuggled into John in their messy bed and enjoyed the afterglow.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to podfic or translate this or create a drawing based on it, go for it. Just please let me know and link back to my fic.
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr.](http://shippingintothenight.tumblr.com)


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